Psionic Dreams and Stranger Things
by CommissarPancakes
Summary: Let's face it, the Zone is one of the deadliest places one could ever live in. Each day could spell your last and for those who traverse its poisoned lands, the unknown and unexpected are the greatest of predators. Doesn't change the variety of the weird one can expect to see though... Welcome to the Zone. (Updates will be sporadic at best)
1. A Cheshire Grin

Dusk had fallen over the lands of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, and with it an eerie peace. For once the mutants weren't baying and screeching into the night, bringing a rare respite for those who traipsed its tainted ground.

For the Stalkers relaxing at the 100 RADS bar however, the night had just begun. Music blared through the (rather invisible) speakers, the bars regulars having given up tracking them down long ago. Up on the cabinet, the old CRT TV sat, a re-run of what appeared to be a badly translated American film playing for the umpteenth time.

Of course nobody paid any attention to it.

For Leshey Butterfingers, it was time to relax. The Goldfish artifact had netted him a small profit and what better way to enjoy his good fortune than to blow half of it on suit repairs and booze. Already two bottles of cheap vodka sat empty to his right, a third sloshing around in his hand. It seemed that half a bottle's worth of grain alcohol was splashed across much of the rotting table.

With a thud, another stalker dropped into the opposite bench in the booth, only glancing at the current occupier before hanging his head.

"Evening Nordal!" No reply came from the stalker.

Taking a sip of the (now rather backwashed) vodka, the pair sat as the sounds of conversation and music blared into the Zone sky.

"Leshy…" the other stalker finally began, "have you ever seen something so terrifying…it makes you want to curl up and never step outside again?"

"Nord, the heck's gotten into you man," Leshy queried, "This is the Zone. We see that type of shit every day!" He punctuated his words with wild swings from the bottle, splashing more of the alcohol around the booth.

Nord did not reply. "At the very least, where was this 'great horror' that's got you shitting yourself, eh? The Red Forrest? Wait! Don't tell me…the Garbage?" The inebriated stalker slapped his knee with the bottle and…giggled?

Nord sighed and looked up at his drunk friend, "No…it was the Cordon." The head drooped once more. And then Leshy began to cackle.

"Seriously dude?" More cackling and gesturing of the (now empty) vodka bottle. "The Cordon? As in the start-here-rookie training grounds Cordon?" Nord raised his head, glaring at the jovial stalker.

"You didn't see it…" he simply replied, "you didn't see what could inspire such…such fear in the hearts of man. You didn't see how Lesnitzky – remember him? The stalker that soloed that fucking lab beneath the old factory at Yantar just because some idiot scientist left their recording device there – simply put a bullet through his head after his fucking mind SHATTERED."

Nord was shaking now, twitches from his neck completely visible in spite of the protective suit he wore. "I…I can't get it out of my head…"

Leshy couldn't believe his eyes. Nordal was one of the most experienced Zoners that remained after the mad rush for Pripyat stripped many factions of their strength. He had traversed the cursed halls of the Agroprom underground with naught but a busted up AK. Hell, he had butchered a nest of Bloodsuckers with nothing but an old sawn-off _just because he could_.

To see the master stalker reduced to a quaking rookie…

"Nordal, my friend…" Leshy gulped, "what did you see?"

Nord continued to quiver, his hands gripped together as if he was trying to squeeze the blood out of them. "We…"

The master stalker took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Lesnitzky and I had just returned from a successful hunt in the Wilds of old Rostok. A Gravi, and two Moonlights." Leshy whistled, that type of haul all in one trip could set a stalker up for months.

"Lesnitzky decided that Sidorovich was giving the best deals on the swag, so we made our way down to the Rookie Village, paying that damned Major Kuznetsov his bribe."

Nordal took a breath, his nerves already frayed from repeating the memory. "We got to Sidorovich's bunker alright, nothing but blind dogs and Flesh, and sold the artifacts…"

Despite the rather tame tale, Leshy could see the tension rolling off of his friend in waves. Already on the cusp of a nervous breakdown, he could almost hear Nordal fighting back tears.

"I should have stopped him…"

"Who?" The now-sober stalker asked, "Lesnitzky? Sidorovich?"

"Oh god…those eyes…those soulless eyes…" Nordal looked up again, eyes wide and naked terror plastered across his scared face. "And that grin…" Tremors wracked the master stalker's body as he looked at the floor once more.

"Nord," more forcefully, Leshy questioned the now-petrified man, "who?"

Choking back a sob, Nordal shook his head. "Lesnitzky…" he began again, "he…he turned on the radio; the one that sat on that fat trader's bench."

"And…?"

His already damaged mental state hanging by a thread, the recanting of the tale seemed to shatter what sanity the man had left. Nordal lost it, openly sobbing into his gloved hands. "And then Sidorovich started to dance…"

…

Behind the bar, the pair could hear the barman hacking away at some of the boar meat a hunter brought in, cutting it down into smaller chunks to be stewed .Somewhere in the distance, a blind dog barked.


	2. On Vulgarity and Checkers

The Vulgarity of Checkers

It is said that returning from a raid into the more anomalous areas of the Zone is one of the most dangerous portions of daily life. Bandits always set up at the pathways to safe zones, hoping for that one inadequately equipped group to mug. Blind dogs would form dens near entrances, feeding off the remains of hapless victims of said bandit ambushes.

Still didn't stop exhausted stalkers from bantering with one another.

Strolling through the Wilds of Rostok, a group of three were making their way back to the safety of the Duty outpost, and more importantly the vodka of the 100 Rads.

"Hey Austoria," the one bringing up the rear piped up, "I just had a thought."

Austoria, currently chief pack mule of the group, glanced back at the bored stalker, "and what might that be Clouds?"

"Have you ever noticed how nobody in the Zone every swears unless they've been shot?"

Austoria and Sweeper, the stalker on point, halted and turned to stare at the man behind them. "What?"

"Hear me out," replied the baffling stalker, "when was the last time you heard someone swear?"

Sweeper scratched his head with the barrel of his pistol, "Well…I do hear _blyat_ and _suka_ quite a bit."

"And don't forget that one guard's brother at the 100 Rads," replied Austoria, "…what's his name? The one that keeps shouting at us to get out?"

"That guy's just being rude. I'm talking about straight up cussing someone out just because they're there."

Silence gripped the group. "Well…we do have derogatives," Sweeper offered as he began the trek back to the Rostok safe zone.

"What, grunt?" Clouds laughed. "How is that supposed to be insulting? Heck, the BANDITS constantly reference checkers whenever they try to taunt us!"

The group was lost in thought as they passed the abandoned train yard, the crashed Mi-24 HIND already stripped bare by scavengers.

"Well…this was certainly an odd conversation," Austoria piped up just as they reached the building that separated the train depot with the courtyard beyond, "what say we go discu-"

"_AHHHHH NU CHICKI BRIKI IV DAMKE!" _Bullets began falling around them as the bandit ambush was sprung.

"Oh for the love of-" Intent on protecting their haul the three stalkers dived (or in the case of Astoria lurched) into what cover was available and another firefight echoed in the heart of the Zone.


	3. Perhaps a Side of Noodles?

**Perhaps a Side of Noodles?**

"Hey Barkeep," Anna shouted over the rancor as she stepped up to the bar, "two Traveler's Delights and some of the special stock!" Nodding, the man behind the counter went into the backroom, intent on digging up the highly nutritious, yet bland tasting tins of indistinguishable food from storage.

Beside her, another scavenger turned towards her. "And what's the auspicious occasion that warrants the good hootch," he laughed, "Make it through a spider's nest or something?" Raising his bottle in a mock salute, he turned back to his companion, who was currently drinking himself into a coma.

"Actually, I'm quite curious myself," the Barkeep had returned, "You, of all people, knows how expensive this stuff is." He set the foodstuffs and a bottle in front of her. "That'll be 2852RU, by the way." Anna placed them into her pack, already bulging with ammunition, survival gear, and other nondescript items.

"We found something that I thought lost for a long time," she replied as she paid. "I've got to get these back to Helm."

"And where is our rather eccentric friend? I'd thought that he'd be here picking up the special order he placed a month ago."

"Currently regurgitating everything he's eaten in the last day, I should think" Anna stated as she made her way out of the bar, "apparently he saw something somewhat…petrifying when we were exploring that strange bordello…"

From the back of the bar a dark, brooding figure lurched from his alcohol induced semi-coma. "Wait…you guys found a fucking bordello…?"

* * *

A/N: This I actually wrote _way_ back when and just came across it when I was organizing all my files. I find that I have an easier time writing tiny snippets like this since I know that I've no staying power when it comes to making something interesting.

Any tips on writing extended scenes/plot lines would definitely be appreciated.


End file.
